The Ravings of a Lonely Lesbian
by Angel Greenwood
Summary: One of the first things I've ever published for others' welcome  but not mean  criticism. I wrote this 2 days after my birthday this past year as I cursed myself for being gay. Sometimes I can only write well when I'm miserable.


The Ravings of a Lonely Lesbian

It's back.

This feeling of horror, panic, despair. The feeling of utter hopelessness, and loss beyond imagining.

The horrible crushing weight of loneliness resounding deep within me. Shaking my bones.

It's back, and there's nothing I can do about it.

I feel as alone in this world as the time when all mocked me, and there was nobody to defend me.

The time when I prayed for death every moment of every day.

The time when oblivion was better than anguish.

When I awoke to a nightmare.

This time is different, but there is one thing that remains the same. I am still alone.

I begged a god to bring me salvation, but it barely came.

I begged my heart to give out, but it never failed. It kept beating. And I cursed it.

When this feeling comes back, as it always does, I'm powerless to stop it. It washes over me, drowning out what joy I have left, burning all traces of hope to ashes. Hope has forsaken me once more. And the cold seeps in to replace warmth, pain replaces happiness.

Childish, stupid me. I fooled myself into thinking there was a place for me in this world.

I was wrong.

There is no one who understands. Even those closest to my heart know nothing of my silent demise, my quiet nightmare.

People tell me they understand. They lie. How could they? They do not live in my home, with my family, my friends, my wild dreams of a better place for someone like me. They don't feel as I do, think as I do, breathe as I do. They try to placate my anger as it rises in answer to the lie, but that fails as their patience does.

I do not care. Patience may be a virtue, but it does not make you all-knowing.

It will not make you comprehend.

I look to the stars for direction and find none. I look to my friends for comfort and find little. I look to my heart for guidance and hear a hollow echo. It's almost empty. Almost.

But what can I do when I am alone?

I don't ever remember a time when I could tell someone anything. I had a friend once, a girl who took me into her heart and I her.

But I didn't know how to tell her my confusion. I didn't know how to voice being so lost. I didn't even know how to recognize people like me, never mind myself. She never got it, because I never told her.

And then she left me. She had to, there was no choice. But I still hate her for it sometimes.

Only one girl has ever understood. Just one. And I loved her with every inch of my burned soul.

Yet even she was taken away. The one person who spoke the truth to me. The one person I believed. Then again, everybody leaves. Nobody truly stays with you, not even the dead.

I've been left with no one. No one to hold me, no one to truly listen. No one to hear me, cuddle me when I cry for sorrow of my own brain chemical differences.

What's worse? Being scared of your own mind or not knowing what you're truly scared of?

I can't choose. I've been both.

Sometimes, like now, I will get this feeling back. It happens suddenly, a sword stuck through my gut. But it lasts a lifetime.

I will sit on my bed then curl into a tight ball, into myself, staring at nothing. Feeling pain worse than any I can commit to skin. My body is riddled with scars.

The sobbing helps. For a short time, at least. The anguish eases after each hiccupping wail and I eventually return to normal.

If I can ever be considered "normal".

Those I spend most of my time with do not like hearing about it, as though if I speak too much about someone I fancy, they'll catch a fatal disease. I do not believe it so, but hey, what do I know? They tell me to stop with an air of aggravation. That hurts more than they could ever realize. Am I overreacting? Maybe. But it hurts just the same.

The world seems hopeless in times like these when the sky grows dark. When there is no light.

Like humanity itself deserves extinction and the night might obliterate only us, leaving Nature Herself untarnished.

The weight is crushing down on my heart and I cannot breathe.

I see no one and nothing. Just an ugly reflection.

I think they want me to be proud. But how? How can I be proud of who I am? I lost that ability a long time ago. It visits every now and again, but remains out of permanent grasp.

I should smile at the mirrored reflection of me, wink at the undeserving face blinking back.

But I can't.

I should proudly wear a rainbow band and show the world I'm strong.

But I'm not.

I'm weak. Too weak to smile at myself. Too weak to get up and face the day.

Few have the strength to be who they are without backup, any support from those like them.

I am not one of those few.

I am only me. Only one.

And I am alone.


End file.
